What's Your Kink?

The person who sent this fabulous post on the subject of tails to me wishes to remain anonymous.

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I am excitable. I get excited over the smallest of things: seeing a beautiful flower in my favourite colour, watching a butterfly go past (even more excited if I can name the species) or when I see animals of different species being friends. I can not contain the feeling of joy when a partner walks in from work or from the shops, or simply walks in from another room. I will often run up to them and tell them the first thing I completely adore about them which springs into my head. I’ll then likely raise my arms in the air and demand to be swung around. Although I’m of average height, I see myself as tiny and small. I like being looked after, and being bundled on the sofa in blankets. I like having my hair stroked, especially as I settle down for an afternoon nap. I like nuzzling into partners. I LOVE to sleep.

So I was not at all surprised that I quickly got the pet name kitty during a previous long term relationship, and kitten during the last. Kitten was a name I cherished, as it embodied so much of me within it. Every time he asked how his kitten was doing, or would congratulate me on doing something courageous by telling me I was a brave kitten, or a clever kitten, I felt a feeling of euphoric happiness I’d never felt before. And strangely enough, for a kinky, submissive person, it was not at all sexual. At first, that is.

I remember the first time I was struggling with my new anti-depressants and sex, and I remember the nights of worrying that my body was broken as I curled up into his lap and he stroked my hair. I remember lying on his bed with my legs open trying (again) to make myself orgasm, so desperate for the release that my mind and body were denying me. I remember him reverting to his usual comforting behaviour as he kissed my forehead, stroked my hair and simply said ‘Take your time, little kitten’.

Seconds later I came all over his sheets.

We began experimenting with this. He would call me his little kitten before he pushed my head down to suck his cock, and I would be offered little kitten treats for good behaviour. I would lick playfully at his nipples, and he would call me a naughty kitten and spank me if I decided to bite a little. Although not a D/s relationship, we would incorporate elements of Dominant and submissive behaviour during sex, in which I (very occasionally) would refer to him as Master, and I was his kitten.

On a few occasions, we did take this further. In one instance I arrived at his door to a rather controlled, almost stern, welcome. I immediately knew something was going to be different, as this is rarely the tone he would take after not seeing me for a few days. After asking how his little kitten was doing (even typing that still makes me melt), he deemed it appropriate to remind me that kittens do not wear clothes. After discarding my unnecessary clothing I helped him cook dinner whilst I was naked and he fully clothed, and was given my dessert to eat from a bowl on the floor as he sat over me and watched. As my kinks are triggered usually by what is in my head as opposed to what is before my eyes, this pressed all of the right buttons. Preceded by a final ‘good little kitten’ upon finishing my dessert, he fucked me to four orgasms bent over his kitchen table.

But where do tails come into the equation?

We talked about collars and tails but we never bought them. Unfortunately the relationship broke down really suddenly and I never got the opportunity to explore this further. Although we’d incorporate some D/s dynamic into our relationship, he was never my ‘Master’. He was shy and sweet and caring: I was his adventure kitten, and he was my wonder mouse and I was certain that our kitten mouse partnership would take over the world. So after the unexpected break up the word kitten would destroy me, and every time I saw anyone being called it I would crumble. I was nothing but a lost little kitten, kicked outside of her safe place, only to find the door being locked and slammed behind her.

Then something changed: I bought my own collar. I bought a collar to remind myself that I own my own submission, I am in control of my own limits, and I am not lost and alone. The collar became the first step in reclaiming ‘kitten’ for myself- this small, tiny word that made me feel like I belonged in a way that no other had before. It is my word, and no one can take it from me.

My tail was the biggest step in this equation. It took a lot of time, research and healing to find the courage to make this decision, but I remember the feeling as I first wore it and looked at myself in the mirror. No, not looked, admired. The pang of sadness that he never got to experience this with me quickly dissipated. I realised I didn’t have to be anybody’s kitten, and I was not, at this point in my life, a kitten to be owned. Kittens are curious, playful, inquisitive and excitable, affectionate and enthusiastic. These characteristics are what my tail and collar embody and what I endeavour to show and experience throughout my own journey. As I lay my tail out behind me, I thought back on those formative experiences with gratitude, and very much looked forward to what was to come.

I am so glad you bought yourself both a collar and tail. When I split up with the first man who I thought of us my Dom it really shock me but then like you I bought myself a collar and wore it with pride and happiness. It was a statement to both me and anyone else about what I was and that I was in charge of that.

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